gorm & gasp

play words pomes

[gormandgasp]

herebirds

howling cowgate winds at windows making widow gulls a husk, cowed owlet little roll and tuck what brow bears gusting beats at each new sheet into the wind. flash black and white and black back chimney stuff and tuck and safe and dark, sweet twiglet beaked and trained all care full care worn care wung care wrung cracked wing swoop low loud rush up at beads and beaks of drop, each beat. quick. short spun. neat.

[gormandgasp]

foxcub

she will be warm enough this time this cabbage her hands held in halves each hemisphere a soup unto itself this better half’s a better man than i. it’s taken years from us, we’ve taken years to write enough, to write it out of us. an apple falling, her hands cupped, and cold bites raw frost chunks from mouth. that’s taken years forgetting. she’s warm enough this time hair grown back straight an apple soup, the cabbage of my eye and timepiece always telling on us, turning forward. warm hands on her belly now. and turning back.

[gormandgasp]

the bins, the bins

sludge + scurry i spy i roll on by alley of overcast cursed our bins are numbered and lucky games to throw away your reverence my neighbour their moss macassar what’s making you savour these wet slabs of card slick dunked biscuit stuck stone stale what’s making you squeak and weather the avenue what’s making you deal in fuzzy mould, in greasy wheels

[gormandgasp]

calling it

5 i am calling it. i am still calling it. i am still calling it out. i am still calling it grief. i’m calling it.

[gormandgasp]

calling it

4 we are above all certainly dignified with grief we are not petty not bitter not shrieking not angry at those still living not disturbed, not deeply, we are not disgusted with life and its blunt offerings, we aren’t, still, face down, wailing, weeping. hahahaha no, we are certainly not.

[gormandgasp]

calling it

3 don’t make me laugh, i’m mourning 4-5 losses at least. i’m very much attached to this grief. and this one too. and this one, too. don’t make me laugh. don’t make me laugh. don’t make me. laugh.

[gormandgasp]

calling it

2 not “stricken” not graceful and sudden but dragged through time grief-knit, knot after knot after knot a cloth, a scarf, a blanket, a tent to cover me in a crafted grief of my own making, my own choosing grief-spun yarns and years of shaping knit after purl after knot shaking pattern i gave name grief-kin and i all tied up in our thousand knots of shame

[gormandgasp]

calling it

1 “grief” seemed as good a word as any - hard and soft with a middle you can stretch out as long as you please

[gormandgasp]

wetlandscape

i went back to the water you held love’s face down in greeted ghosts that weren’t ghosts that never were where you, bully, learned to do it. i went back to the fields you kicked love down in bright green, friendly, bánh chuối, muỗi, where you, weak, grew cruel. bitter leaf & tangled roots again to choke on. i went back smiling. free. to curse this place called “yours”.

[gormandgasp]

even in the library, every page was grief

breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and breaking and

[gormandgasp]

lockdown / fallout

how long until home. there we were in the country. there was no getting away from it. there were kind ones in another country. there was no getting away from it. the meat hanging among the orchids in the morning. i made more coffee than i should. it was important to stay awake. it was important to stay alert. what is there left to remember? the kind one with mosquito spray. she came to the spot where i was hiding on the mossy stones, among the orchids. there was no getting away from it. the madness i’d thought i could handle. the anger i’d thought i could understand. the cruelty i’d thought was an error. it was important to stay awake at night to stay clear and sane in the face of it. there was no getting away from it. here i am in the country. how long until home.

[gormandgasp]

flat

the little trickle and i, why, i fancy my legs been suddenly buckled folded up under me quick i laughed red, it’s iron i said but doc said no dear, it’s grief your grief that’s made you weak and cracked have you tried meditation have you tried medication have you tried electric shocks? they never said madness got in your legs when i felt it creeping - that’s this? i’ll ask the questions here she said. but i’m tired i’m so tired, if i should lie again held by the floor, doc, turn your cheek. please. let me fall as affect. flat.

[gormandgasp]

this room of feet

it was a choice. this room of feet and toes. screw on, screw off. i chose this space of snatched voice. come again, again, and go. it was exposed this place of mechanical vice. fix up, fall out (i suppose) i splice corners into smaller corners. so it goes. it was closed this room of feet and silent toes. my choice, still, to stand alone.

[gormandgasp]

i’m sorry to say

dear my love. any love will do. come and play with me. (it’s been very bad this time) the lake is not the sea, as i have noticed. winds lift the house and rattle the cats retracting ants and a shrew tucked behind liquor jars. cats are waiting, fishing into air. the burn has scabbed over so the grasses can’t get in. every burning grates. it’s personal. we are waiting again. in the woods there are sadnesses we don’t discuss. six of mine and half a dozen others. dear my love. as the grasses bow, as the ferns curl, as the moss spreads, i swear. i’m sorry. any love will do.

[gormandgasp]

exhibiting

imagining - how the brain can. how warped the brain can go. how warped the brain can. there was an outlier who was alone. there was a crusting over. there was an everlasting. there was a rambunctiousness. there were unstringed puppets left like dolls in the yard. what are the things you haven’t done? lived. well - lived well. not yet. dear my love, i’m back in the museum. i have laid out traps as such. trip wires. buckets of flour. i crunched the leaves together as they asked and still no matter. no matter whether i bought an icecream for someone else or did nothing or simply scratched my arms against the frames. dear my love, everything is intense and i can’t remember how to do things well, i couldn’t remember what or whom i had loved. i had loved. i had. loved well? well, not yet. back in the museum, i am curating and scheduling behind scenes, out lying. alone, warping. unhinging. unstringed, i am imagining.

[gormandgasp]

matrimony sequence

i chew sand, and it turns glass before i can spit. for a minute there i fancied my own lip split. in the glass which was thrown (at me!) and again. and again. faithfully, i remain property of none. and back to one. one. two. three. five. eight. the paper’s weight, the wait for it. the weight of the documented mistake.

[gormandgasp]

peach / tea

each peach each peach i dare to sweeten moments we share from habit. it is nothing spectacular, just the exhibiting sky in a cup in a hand now open on the table, nothing to regret, quietly close for closeness’ sake. i know the stakes. i would not look in your eyes for too long i could be in love with almost anyone kind, if i would let me whatever the tea was meaning to you, i was always leaving in mornings, on workdays, at night when ideas are brighter and the tea you pinch in fingers rolling tip to joint & green too, you keep talking, describing, cutely faltering, i hear myself listening to tea gone cold you drench the few plants left or tea still warm in the pot touching leaves out of your teeth cupped hands again cupping all the warmth i was allowed to be honest. you make the tea this time, like every time, steeping meaning, with hands that remember parts of me, your sweet kind hands i’m always leaving